Untitled Relationship
by Mettemorphose
Summary: She hadn't opened her eyes yet when he did it. It didn't feel natural at all or well placed in the situation, but seeing her trembling lips made him want nothing but to cover them with his own. His heart and brain raced with a speed only matched by the fastest vehicles in the Capitol. How fucked up did a night have to be for him to end up kissing Effie Trinket?
1. Charming Happy Capitol

_**Authors note: **It took me a long time to write this, so I will upload it in smaller bits (it's about 34 pages long in my document). It's yet another take at Hayeffie, though I tried to practice my English skills (or lack thereof) more in this than in my other fics. I've really tried getting everything correct, but I'm still not native and I suck at even my own languages grammar, so please be nice. __  
_

**This story may be seen as triggering to people dealing or having dealt with self injury, suicide or depression. Rated M for descriptive violence and very dark themes. **_  
_

* * *

_Charming. Happy. Capitol. _Those were the three words Mayor Undersee had used to describe the new escort, when he caught Haymitch walking home towards Victors Village with a new stash of booze. Haymitch agreed on the last one, but the other two … He hadn't seen much of that. He sat like a schoolboy in front of her on the train, drink in his hand and tried to fake not being the slightest bit curios about what kind of a person she was. If it weren't for her flaws he wouldn't be, but the wig had gone slightly askew – not enough to reveal her natural hair, but just enough to make his eyes dart up to her hair every time she moved her head, waiting for the thing to fall off. She had also made a mistake at the reaping, which he had never ever experienced happening before. A small one, though, but a mistake. She talked to the wrong camera when she read the initial speech. She seemed so beat up over it now, that he would feel bad for her, if she wasn't what he suspected to be just another Capitol scarecrow. And if he wasn't so drunk he could barely stop himself from laughing every time she went a bit too high with her silly Capitol accent and her voice cracked. She wept that evening, but didn't show him more than the red, puffy eyes when she came out for dinner.

"Maybe you could tell them about your Quell, Mr Abernathy, I think it'd be good for them to know a bit about what they're going to do. I saw the tapes you know, you were quite the survivor in there," The twisted compliment hit him with a bad mixture of memories. The two tributes, a tiny girl from the Seam and a coal miner's strong son, had gone to bed. The old escort, Juliet, had never even mentioned Haymitch's games. She probably knew better. But then again, she also reaped him and followed him to the Capitol. She probably even knew what happened to his family afterwards, so she had left him alone with it. This new one. Trinket, she didn't know. She was painfully oblivious to what seemed like everything but her schedule and the table manners of her companions. When he didn't reply to her suggestion, she asked again, a bit higher pitched. He took a messy sip of the bottle, allowing a little to drip on his clean shirt, just to irritate her. Maybe that'd take her mind of things.

"There's a few rules, Trinks," he said and looked at her with hazy eyes. His voice was barely a whisper and he saw her leaning forward to catch the words. He didn't want any eavesdropping tributes to hear what he had to say now.

"One: Don't tell me what to do. I do what I have to, nothing more, nothing less. I want none of your fancy ideas." He started seeing an already defiant look in her eyes.

"_Two_: I drink, don't ask why, just accept it," he continued cutting off her argument with a louder pronunciation of the word 'two'.

"Three: We never. _Ever._ Talk about the Second Quarter Quell. Pretend it never happened. Pretend I was never a victor. Pretend I'm just here for the drinks,"

He heard an unwilling sadness in his own voice when he said the last few sentences. She must've heard it too, for she didn't argue with him that night. He knew he'd startled, probably even scared her. An old alcoholic guy with a wild look in his eyes and uncombed hair. Him compared to her oh-so-close-to-perfect face and nicely pressed clothes. Though she had her flaws, she was prim and proper.

_Charming._ He thought. Where the hell did Undersee get that from. Effie Trinket was as charming as the piece of toast on his plate. Breakfast had gone by in an alcoholic blur, but somehow Effie had made sure he got a plate sent to his room with a piece of toast and marmalade. How she knew his favourite was unbeknownst to him. He didn't remember if she'd brought it here herself, but he suspected it, because he remembered hearing the distinct sound of her clicking heels. Just like he heard them now. Clicking and clacking down the hall to get to her own compartment. Maybe it was a bit charming after all, he thought reluctantly, while he made his way through half a piece of toast and flushed it down with some strong white liquor he didn't recall getting last night. He laughed a bit at the thought of her leaving the liquor for him. It hit hard and a minute later he was vomiting violently into the toilet. He heard that clicking sound again and felt a cold cloth being pressed to his forehead, relieving some of the pain and allowing him to rest a bit. A hand placed itself on his back, but no words were exchanged. She just nursed him, held his half long hair when he threw dinner up from yesterday. When he was done, she wrung the cloth in clean water and dried off his face. He didn't know what to do, so he let her. She smiled at him and even laughed a bit. Haymitch liked her laugh. It sounded more real than the rest of her. Maybe that was why she didn't laugh as much.

"Are you feeling better now Mr Abernathy?" she asked when she took back the cloth. He was puzzled as to why the smell of vomit, alcohol and misery didn't make her frown. _Happy. _Yeah, she probably thought it was all just a little game. He growled in response and went back to his bed and lay down. She followed him, to make sure he hit the bed properly.

"I'll wake you up in a few hours," she promised him and disappeared, closing the door softly.

* * *

"No! No, you're _not _going to back out of this!" Effie shrieked as he left the room, leaving her alone with the dim light of the TV as her only light source. Their female tribute had died first at the Cornucopia. The boy held up a bit longer, using his raw strength, but he was in dire need of food right now.

"He's going to die, Trinks. Just … let it be," he said to try and avoid the storm of an argument she seemed to have in store for him.

"Get him a sponsor!" she demanded. He was surprised at her. She had been all excited during the training, getting mediocre scores cheered her up and she had been thrilled when the countdown started, though she hadn't dared look when it ended. She was the Capitol canalised into a human body, but still she was on the edge of tears looking at the screen where the focus was now on the usual Career pack following the seam boy. The arena was merciless this year. Snow and ice everywhere, to honour the president.

"I can't, I'm drunk and I have to pack," Haymitch replied to her and held up the bottle as to show her what he meant. He could've tried, he knew, but it would never happen. Sponsors for twelve? He could laugh.

"What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously, still heated with anger and the sort of Capitol sorrow, which would be devastating for a few days and then pushed aside the next time a collection of sparkling clothing came out. Haymitch knew very well. The different stylists had all had this approach. They wept and went into a state of depression for a few days, but when he hung around long enough to see the victor being crowned, they were the same bubbly butterfly-like creatures as always. Only Effie somehow seemed different. He couldn't put a finger on it and maybe it was just the alcohol talking to him, but he couldn't quite shake it.

"If he dies," His eyes darted to the screen, looking at their tribute cornered with a glacier behind him. His thoughts returned to the manner of him winning, finding the edge. The force field. "_When … _he dies. I'm going home tomorrow morning, first train," he concluded as he watched one of the careers drawing a crudely crafted spear.

"But Mr Abernathy," Effie said with a slight shock to her voice.

"But what, Trinks? Thought I'd stay forever? I'm flattered, but… You're not my type," he said and she raised her eyebrows at him. She gave him a lot of leash compared to how she'd treated the children, but there was only so much for her to give before he got out of hand. He needed to try her off, to know where the line was drawn, so he could entertain himself with her irritation. She grew red around the edges of her pale make-up as he said that. He laughed harshly at her.

"No," she said firmly clenching her tiny hand into a fist, "I was just informed, that most mentors stay to see the crowning of the Victor,"

As she said the word _victor_ the cannon sounded from the TV and they both grew silent looked at the seam grey eyes closing. It had been a messy, death without honour. He'd seemingly laid there and let them stab him several times with the dull spear until he bled to death or whatever killed him. The two tributes from 12 had died.

"Oh," was all Effie said, "oh…"

Haymitch subconsciously took a step back, as if she was about to hit him or something, but nothing happened.

"Well… Have a good trip tomorrow, then. Good bye Mr Abernathy," she said in a flat, monotone voice, only broken by a few hiccups of what seemed to be oncoming tears. He didn't want to be around when she started crying, so he left as quickly as he could pick up the bottle from the kitchen table and gather the few of his belongings he cared about.

"See you in a year, Trinks," he yelled from the door and slammed it shut.


	2. Secondhand Murder

_**Authors Note: **So chapter two. I know they aren't as long as I would like them to be, but I tend to see where it fits to cut the story off without making those irritating "now-I-don't-have-to-read-next-chapter"-thingy-majiggys. I'm happy you guys gave such great response so I hope I don't disappoint you. It's a little long in the start, I admit, but I wanted to have the backstory there for later. The action begins in next chapter I guess (if you can call it action). Enjoy!_

_**This story may be seen as triggering to people dealing or having dealt with self injury, suicide or depression. Rated M for descriptive violence and very dark themes.  
**_

* * *

"May the odds be _ever_ in your favour," Her little catchphrase. Haymitch sunk down in his chair as he watched her stand in front of the crowd for the third time. They knew her by now. She was just the new instalment of horror dressed in bright fashion. Sometimes he thought of Effie Trinket, because she was the only one that seemed to care about him anymore. To 12 he was some kind of myth, who sometimes walked into town to get his alcohol and kept out of the way otherwise. Few talked to him. Sometimes he thought of her because she just popped into his mind. The quiet reserved laughter and the pale skin. It wasn't something he welcomed, because after all he still really wanted to hate her, but it was kind of hard when he found that she even sent him a gift for his birthday. Maybe that was just something they _did _in the Capitol, but he couldn't help but think that the cognac bottle in the gift basket was his favourite year and his favourite brand. It was almost too coincidental to be sweet of her. But then again, she _was_ very observant. He didn't listen to her talk anymore, he'd learned through practice and drinking to tune her out, but he heard the names being called. He knew the last name of the boy, but he couldn't put a finger on who it belonged to. He also wouldn't care. Just as he wouldn't care about Effie Trinket sending him a present. Mayor Undersee looked at him funny and he realized he was supposed to be going of stage with the escort in the high heels now. He did it. Well, at least there was free booze on the train.

* * *

She yelled at him for not doing anything. He reminded her, that the tributes from 12 were weak and small compared to the other kids in there. She yelled some more, but he couldn't really get himself to care for her words, no matter the volume they came to him.

"Get those children some sponsors! She's pretty, she's smart, she eats with utensils, how hard can it be?" she demanded of him, probably well knowing she was breaking those precious rules from the first day she met Haymitch. He didn't care for it, just leaned back in the chair and put the glass to his lips. Something about this entertained him even though she really pushed his buttons. The children would die. No doubt about it. He hoped they enjoyed this train ride, because it was going to be the last thing they ever experienced in a world where some sort of freedom was mimicked.

Her next comment hit him, though. It broke every rule he had ever told her about.

"Haymitch, you can't let your own Games haunt you forever like this, now it's your job to stop being an … an asshole and start doing something to help them!" The breach in her speaking pattern, the dirty word slipping through her lips all made something inside him burn with hate. She wasn't going to stand there in her high heels and tell him how to deal with anything. So he hit her. The first time with so much power she fell to the floor. Second time he hesitated, seeing the tears well in her eyes, but he let a second bruise form next to the first one on her cheek and over her nose, which had started bleeding quite badly. The third hit never happened as he stopped himself realizing what he was doing. She lay sobbing on her knees holding her silk sleeve to her bleeding nose. The only thing Haymitch really thought about was that he shouldn't have hit her in the face, where it was visible.

"You want to hear about my games?" He heard himself say to her so harshly he would probably have stopped anybody else from talking to her that way. It wasn't him speaking, but neither was it the good amount of alcohol in his system. No the creature speaking to the frightened escort was a personification of all those moments where he had been so near tears of rage and fright, that he'd almost burst. He'd held all that in until now. Effie Trinket just happened to be in the same room.

"I killed people, Trinket. You don't understand it because all you've done is second hand murder, when you lead those kids. Kids like me, back then. To the reaping. You don't get what it feels like to have everything taken away, even though you thought you had nothing,"

She crawled away from him, doing very little to pretend to be interested in his mad monologue. He could hear her panicking, maybe even considering striking back at him. She'd hit him a few times, but her hits where like a playful reminder from a child. Haymitch knew he'd hurt her, maybe more than she realized herself.

"I could kill _you_ right now if I wanted to," He said slowly and stared violently into her eyes, forcing her to lock eyes with him. The make-up she'd caked on for the reaping where running down her cheeks revealing her own very pale skin underneath the dark make-up seemingly in fashion this year. For a short moment he actually thought about killing her. Twisting her dainty neck and letting her be. He could surely be executed for that. Then reality hit him again as he heard a tiny sound of absolute fear. He'd heard it before. Something a woman only allows herself to do as a final resort, resulting in nothing. His mom had made the same sound when the peace keepers broke down the door and took her away to kill her. It was the sound of surrender.

He left the room, left her and called a servant to tend to her.

* * *

The tributes actually hung on quite a while that year, making it even more awkward for him to stay at the training centre, seeing her every day. She never mentioned the episode on the train and she had her nose fixed. It had been broken. He knew it. She talked to him as always, complaining about the weather or the rough arena, discussing strategies. She didn't say anything about mentoring, sponsors or anything else, that might be sensitive though and after her sixth evaluation of the game makers' choice of water source he actually kind of missed her intolerable yelling, but he couldn't get himself to criticize her. In the few sober moments he felt guilty about ever laying a hand on her. In a few of his darkest drunk moments he regret not killing her. Mostly he just felt miserable and stupid. He had actually expected her to turn him in, telling some branch of police-unit of the assault on her and get him arrested or something, but absolutely nothing happened, which to him was even worse than if she'd hit him back and ripped out his eyes or something. On the bottom line he'd hurt a woman, who may or may not be innocent, but in all ways weak and defenceless in the moment he'd done it.

"Was that Irene?" Effie woke up at the sound of the cannon. Haymitch almost fell out of the chair he'd been sitting in. His face flushed with embarrassment, when he realized he'd been staring at _her_ the past 30 minutes instead of the screen where their female tribute was running towards the Cornucopia, chased by a district 5 tribute with a massive sword. The picture on the screen right now was not Irene, nor was it the district 5 boy chasing her. It was a suicide. They both knew it, because the game makers didn't televise it right away. Suicide wasn't good entertainment and even though everybody knew, no one talked about it. Except maybe in the districts. Effie put on her best smile and looked at Haymitch while the anthem played and showed the face of a young girl from 7.

"Haymitch… Can I – Can I ask you a question?" Effie asked with a tiny voice as her eyes darted from him and began reflecting the girl's face, while the commentators discussed the odds for the rest of the games, following her death. Haymitch didn't really want to talk to her, but he nodded and took a sip from the bottle in his hand. He had another realization that while he'd been looking at the sleeping escort he hadn't even been drinking.

"I know I'm not supposed to talk about it… I'm sorry, but… Sometimes my friends ask me what I'd do if I were in the games. I never reply to them, because I think… I think I'd do the same as Melissa there, only much sooner,"

"That isn't a question, Trinks," Haymitch growled, though he was curious to hear what she had to say.

"Did you ever-"

"No," He cut her off.

"Why not?" She was crossing a line now and he felt a slight pain in his stomach thinking about his 'why', which had shown to be indifferent for what happened shortly after.

"I used to have something to fight for," He just said conclusively. She wasn't stupid enough to ask more questions. She just nodded and looked at him for a few moments before she got up from the sofa and got herself a glass of water from the bathroom. He saw her hands trembling as she sat it on the glass table in front of her. It was weird of her to not just call a servant, but he suspected she didn't really need to quench her thirst, but more so needed to look herself in the eyes after baring a part of her for him. Took her quite a while as well. It was interesting, Effie Trinket doing this, when she couldn't even use his first name, when she wasn't mad at him and her tongue slipped.

Their tributes both died over the course of the next three days.


	3. Secrets

**Author's note: **I would love to put this in longer chapters, but it'd take away the grace of the text I guess. Some of the sections are long while some are short. I try to keep it interesting. This is a short chapter. The next one will be a bit longer I guess (I really can't remember). I think the storyline in this chapter speaks for itself as to while it's good to cut off where I cut off :)

Thank you EVER so much for all the feedback. It makes it all more fun!

**This story may be seen as triggering to people dealing or having dealt with self injury, suicide or depression. Rated M for descriptive violence and very dark themes.**

* * *

"I'm going to find Haymitch," He heard her say from the other cart. "He's probably in the bar,"

"Shut up, woman," Haymitch muttered to himself, mostly because she was right.

"Mr Abernathy, could you… Could you help me in here?" she asked. Everything this woman said seemed to demand him to reply.

"No," he replied.

"We have a volunteer this time, don't you think she-"

"No, she just did it to save her sister,"

"She has spirit!"

"_You_ have _spirit_, but you never win these things do you?" He teased her. He didn't know why he wanted her to break. He'd broken her on several occasions before and it was never pretty, but somehow there was a point just before she started crying where she seemed so _real._

"Mr Abernathy, me winning depends on you working with me," She sat down next to him in the bar.  
"It's because of that hug ain't it? I was drunk,"

"Haymitch, you really don't get it, do you?" she asked and left as fast as she'd come. Before he processed her actual words he noticed she'd used his first name. It sounded so weird when she said it calmly instead of shouting it alongside profanities. No. He didn't get it. He didn't get her. She was so bipolar. He took his drink and decided to go check out the new victims. That Katniss girl, she _did_ volunteer. Maybe, just maybe something could be worked out.

* * *

"What _is _that?" Haymitch felt terribly sober as he stared at the otherwise decent, bubbly escort who'd blush if their hands touched in the elevator. Effie sat with her eyes wide open staring at him while the blade fell to the ground from her blood stained fingertips. She didn't even breathe. Half a second later she covered up her thighs as fast as she could, but the light pink nightdress didn't do much to conceal the blood making dark patches through the thin fabric.

"Trinket, what _the hell_ are you doing?" he said as calmly as he could, taking her by the wrist and pulling back the fabric with a slight sob from her. The fabric had covered her thigh in blood, but it was clear to see the cuts.

"Go away!" She suddenly snapped out of it and pushed him away with all the force she could muster. The blood on her hands left a few smears on his blue shirt.

"Get out of my room!" she shouted at him, but he figured he could take her, if she became violent.

"No fucking way, Trinks, give me that," He didn't even know why he was so angry with her. She shouldn't be doing this to herself, not Effie Trinket, the brainless robot of the Capitol. She'd picked up the blade again. It seemed to be from one of those lady-shavers, but broken in half.

He took it. Wasn't hard to force it out of her shaking hands. The blood on his shirt didn't bother him as much as when it got on his hands.

"Trinket. Look at me. _Look at me, Effie,_" he demanded of her after sliding the blade into his front pocket. She was obviously scared. When her eyes met his he realized she was clean. Her face was stripped of make-up, her eyes lens free and deep blue. Her blonde hair flowing down to her shoulders, slightly wavy. Something changed inside him when he saw this. His anger disappeared. He couldn't be mad at her, not like this. She looked so helpless and tiny.

"You're beautiful like this," the last bit of drunkenness in him blurted out to her. This was not the situation to be giving compliments. She looked at him all confused and raised a hand to her face with a silent 'oh'.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" Haymitch asked softly and sat down on the bed next to her. All he'd wanted to do was to say sorry for upsetting her earlier. Mostly because after talking to this years tributes, he felt he might finally have something to work with and he didn't want her to be smouldering with heavyset anger at him if he wanted to give it a shot.

"Effie, please talk to me, you're hurting yourself. It's not normal,"

"You drink," she said after a few moments of silence.

"There's a big difference between cutting your own skin and drinking," Haymitch replied.

"Why do you even care? You barely tolerate me," She didn't look at him anymore.

"This is not about me," Haymitch said, because it was true what she said. Sometimes he'd wanted to kill her, in all seriousness. But the times he wanted to off her, she'd acted like a puppet on a string for Capitol officials, probably not even speaking with her own voice.

She didn't say anything more. He kept sitting there, through the night, watching her blood coagulate, not knowing what he should do or not do. He tried speaking to her a few times, but she was just weeping too much for her to reply. At one point he put a hand on top of hers, which seemed to calm her down a bit. She got tired, very tired and just to add to the awkwardness of the situation she ended up dosing off leaned against his shoulder. It felt so peculiar to have a woman push her body against his, even though this was so far from sexual as human contact came; it'd been a long time. He guessed that was sometimes what he'd thought of, when he thought of Effie Trinket. Sex. Not because he'd found her desirable or beautiful with all that make-up and costumes, but simply because she was the only woman in his life, who actually seemed to give a shit, though he treated her like a piece of trash, which randomly had been given the gift of speech. There was not much to fantasize about when the urge checked in, so sometimes it'd just end up with her. He breathed heavily and let her fall asleep. Maybe he could tuck _her _in for once. He couldn't think of anything but the cuts on her thighs. Not so much because they were there. He'd tried it once before as well, but it didn't do anything for him. No. Because he'd never misjudged a person as much as he'd misjudged Effie Trinket.

* * *

She acted as if nothing ever happened when the tributes where in the room. It was like watching her after the time he'd hit her, except he now knew. He knew why she never told anybody about anything more private than her recent shoe purchase. He knew why she'd disappear into bathrooms at weird times during the games. If only he knew why she did it. A part of him really wanted to help her, but he didn't see a way out of it.

"We'll be arriving in the Capitol shortly," she informed them coming into breakfast, wearing her make-up, wearing her wig. Haymitch couldn't help but let his gaze slide down to the purple silk skirt. He wondered how she kept the wounds from breaking and leaking through the delicate fabric. His thoughts were cut off by her clearing her throat. She saw what he was doing. He poured some liquor in his coffee. This got crazier every year.

* * *

"Cinna that was simply dazzling," she said and gave the stylist a kiss on the cheek. Peeta was on stage now, talking to Caesar. Haymitch looked at Katniss and gave her a grunt and said something about her dress being pretty. He hadn't talked to Effie alone since that night on the train, but this night would be his. He wanted answers, because she'd been sending him a lot of mixed signals. Sometimes inviting him to sit next to her, placing her hand next to his on the table so close she could as easily have just put it over his. Sometimes not even holding the elevator door when he ran for it. But she seemed to be consciously avoiding being alone with him and he didn't know how to react to anything she did, though somewhere in him everything changed the night he saw her at her weakest point and he couldn't shake the slight stab of jealousy of Cinna who seemed so oblivious to her troubles and just accepted her gratitude for his work. If Haymitch didn't know any better he'd call them alike, Effie and Cinna. Both trendsetters and trying to make it in the games, though they both seemed to be stuck with 12. That was before he knew Cinna asked specifically for 12. That was well before he knew why Effie actually stuck to 12.


	4. Punishment

**Author's note: **So this is a bit longer than the others (lol about 200 words longer, never mind). I just gotta warn you guys who are dying to read more (don't die I like you) that I am going back to school tomorrow and I might not be able to upload shizzle as often as I do now, since the second year of my education is the toughest (my body is so not ready for this). I'm also going to an anime convention this weekend, so I won't at all upload during the weekend (except for maybe Sunday evening, if I'm not dying from tired)

Well, now you know a bit about my plans (like you care).

**This story may be seen as triggering to people dealing or having dealt with self injury, suicide or depression. Rated M for descriptive violence and very dark themes.**

* * *

"Trinket," He called her as she was leaving the room. Cinna, who had been sitting calmly sketching something on a pad, looked up. Haymitch's voice sounded like someone beat him up.

"Mr Abernathy?" Effie replied and looked him in the eyes with a plea of silence. Her eyes darted to Cinna.

"Can I talk to you… In private?" Haymitch realized how fake this sounded, but it didn't matter. Cinna would get the idea – at least it seemed that way when he got up and left with a slight grin. Yeah, he probably didn't get the _right _idea, but Haymitch could give a flying fuck about what Cinna thought they were doing.

"What do you want? Don't you think … Don't you think you've ruined enough already? God, you're so stupid," she said coming closer to him as her voice lowered to a whisper. She didn't sound mad, she didn't even sound irritated. Just sad and miserable.

"I wanted to know what's going on,"

"You're drunk,"

"I'm always drunk, what's your excuse?" He snapped back at her making her obviously frightened by his hard words.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Mr Abernathy … You should –"  
"Can you please cut that out? Not even my father was Mr Abernathy… I'm Haymitch,"

"You should forget everything you saw and everything I've done up to this point. Just pretend nothing ever happened, pretend we've just met and I'm just the Capitol girl you think I am," she continued, ignoring his demand. Her words echoed back to when he'd told her never to speak about the Quell. _Pretend it never happened. _

"Like that's possible, look princess, I ain't judging you for anything. I want to help you. Don't ask me why, I don't exactly know why, but I feel I owe you and I don't like owing anybody anything," Haymitch said to her.

"Consider us even then. These will be my last games anyway,"

"Why?" Haymitch felt something that kind of seemed like panic. He didn't want Effie to just disappear.

"I'm quitting this job. I can't risk it ruining my reputation after these things happen, it's not good for me,"

"So it's the games that's getting to you?" he asked feeling he got closer to the real case of this.

"If that's what you want to believe, then yes. Let's say it's just the games,"

"You can't quit," It'd look even more suspicious if she quit after just a few years.

"No, but I can stop trying," It was more like a threat than an actual resignment.

"Trinks. Why are you hurting yourself?" Haymitch finally asked. They'd been beating the bush for too long. "Why did I find you slashing your thighs? You've done it before, probably also after, but why?"

She looked up, her eyes welled with tears.

"You're not the only one with nightmares," She seemed to have given up now. All those secrets she tried so desperately to keep behind the bleached smile didn't even matter now.

"You have no idea how much pressure I'm under. What is expected of me. Every time you fail as a kid there's someone there to punish you. But I'm a big girl now –" She wiped her eyes leaving smears of make-up on her handkerchief. "- So I have to punish myself," she finished looking at him with a pained expression. He was speechless. She hadn't said much, but somehow she'd made her point. He remembered her first reaping, how the only thing he'd found remotely interesting about her was her flaws. How she'd cried – probably for hours – over that tiny mistake with the camera.

"For how long have you been … punishing yourself?" Haymitch asked trying to hide the fact that he was so scared of this side of her, he'd gladly take another round in the arena instead of diving deeper.

"I was eleven the first time," she admitted. Haymitch realized he had no idea how old she was. With her make-up on she looked like her mid thirties. Without he wouldn't be surprised if she just turned 20.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be telling you this. I told you to forget it, so that's what you have to do. Don't worry about me," She said looking away from him. He walked a few steps closer to her, making the distance between them less than half a metre.

"You worry about me sometimes, Trinket,"

"My _job_ is to worry about you," she said looking so hard into the floor she seemingly stared right through it and into the district 11 quarters below.

"Your job is to make sure I get here, not to wipe vomit of my face and send me birthday greetings. I can care about you if I want to," Haymitch said the words in an angry whisper, but meant them in a nice way. They hit her no matter what way they came out in, because she let out a whimper and looked at him like he'd stabbed her right there on the spot. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"You're not supposed to care, Mr Abernathy,"

"Stop talking about what I'm supposed to, Trinket," He only put her last name in the sentence to make her stop talking to him, like he was above her. She hadn't opened her eyes yet when he did it. It didn't feel natural at all or well placed in the situation, but seeing her trembling lips made him want nothing but to cover them with his own. His heart and brain raced with a speed only matched by the fastest vehicles in the Capitol. How fucked up did a night have to be for him to end up kissing Effie Trinket? When he moved away from her she'd opened her eyes and now looked at him with a mixture between wonder, relief and pure sadness.

"You're certainly not supposed to do that, Mr Aber- Haymitch," she said with a voice so brittle he could barely hear it over the beating of his own heart. A few years ago he'd hit her so hard her nose broke, seriously considering killing her. Now he didn't want anything more than another kiss or just a touch. It took Effie a moment to wipe away the fresh and confused tears, before she fulfilled his wish and gave in to another, deeper kiss, so close he felt the tears clinging to her long, fake eyelashes.

He felt her lipstick stick to his lips when he once again let her draw away from him.

"I'm sorry…" she said and suddenly looked so very worried and began panting like she'd run a marathon. "It's my fault, I shouldn't have…"

"Effie, don't … Please," Haymitch begged, because he thought he had an idea of what she was thinking about.

"I won't Haymitch, I promise. If you promise to not…" she obviously didn't know how to end her sentence.

"I won't," he just replied. Leave her? Tell on her? He had wanted answers from this conversation, but all he'd done was to raise even more questions and planting a sort of need deep in his soul. He took the liberty of stroking a strand of wig hair back in place, he had an urge to rip the thing of her head, but the night was still young and he was unsure if Cinna would be showing up again.

"I'm going to wash up," she said and finally broke a smile to him. A real one. It wasn't like the ones she put on in front of the tributes and the general public, where it was so painfully fake it showed off way too much of her way too white teeth.

"I must look horrible," she continued and he realized he'd been keeping one hand on her waist as she gently, but firmly removed it.

"Meh, you're prettier without it,"

"You're prettier without that attitude," she replied back.

* * *

"So… Last night?" Cinna asked at breakfast looking at Haymitch. Only Portia and the avoxes were here to watch Haymitch squirm in his seat. He'd followed Effie to 'wash up', not because he expected to do anything more with her, but because he was scared she'd break her promise. Cinna had a huge smile painted all over his face.

"Last night?" Portia asked giving him a look "What have you done?"

"Effie and Haymitch wanted a private moment last night, kicked me right out of the living room, did they," Cinna said as Katniss and Peeta entered. Effie was late. It didn't look like her.

"Nothing happened, Cinna, - Good morning,"

"Happened where?" Peeta asked curiously.

"Nowhere!" Haymitch replied and began eating, determined not to say anything more.

She came into the room looking a bit … off. Her outfit was as coordinated as ever, but there was almost an effect of overstated perfection. He shook his head. Cinna didn't miss how long he'd been looking at her and laughed at him. Effie blushed before she even sat down.

"I'm sorry for the delay, I'd misplaced my folder for today," she said in a dead voice. Nothing bubbly or happy about it.

Cinna and Portia looked silently at Effie. Maybe they noticed it too – well it was hard to miss, so he was sure they did. There was something wrong. Then Haymitch felt Cinna's eyes settle on him again, this time without the playfulness. Katniss and Peeta started a conversation and the stylists fell into it. Effie kept quiet, which too was also very unlike her. Haymitch couldn't judge if she regretted everything or was just too shy to know what to do. None of the possibilities would surprise him.

* * *

After breakfast Cinna pulled him aside. He felt it was not to discuss Katniss' next outfit, so he didn't protest, like he normally would. His brown eyes, enhanced by the thin gold line, laid upon him merciless. All the fun from the start of the day was gone. When he spoke, his words sounded like taken directly out of a movie.

"If you hurt her again, I'm going to kill you,"

"Cinna, Effie and I … we didn't do what you think we did last night,"

"Women here are different, Haymitch. They're fragile, weak-willed,"

Haymitch looked at him for a long time. Not all Capitol women he'd met was like Effie, actually none of them was, but fragile was a good overall description.

"It's not like I fucked her, Cinna," Haymitch said to make it very clear for the stylist.

"Then why does she look like somebody abused her?"

"If you need to know, why don't you ask Effie?" Haymitch said getting tired of the accusations.

"Maybe I will," Cinna said with a warning deeply anchored in his voice.

Haymitch turned his back to him. Everything last night was a mistake and he took it the next few days would get that awkward feeling he wouldn't even be able to shut out with spirits.


	5. Remember the Rules

**Author's note: **Just posting this short one before I go to school. I'll probably post another one tonight (if I'm not too stressed out, about the convention being tomorrow *panic mode activated*) because this is short and kinda bad.

**This story may be seen as triggering to people dealing or having dealt with self injury, suicide or depression. Rated M for descriptive violence and very dark themes. **

* * *

"There's nothing more we can do now," Haymitch said to calm her down as they sat together, him with a glass in his hand and eyes loosely locked on the screen in front of them, where the tributes rose in their tubes and into the arena.

"Cinna did an amazing job on her and Peeta didn't even need styling for his charm. They both got good scores, maybe…" she trailed off looking not at the screen, but not quite at him. There seemed to be something way more interesting over his left shoulder. A pressure laid on him. Here he was, alone, with Effie Trinket again. Last time he'd made her cry, then kissed her, and then proceeded to make sure she came unharmed to bed and tuck her in. This time he had to limit emotions to a pang of sadness if one of their tributes died at the Cornucopia. She didn't seem to like that plan, because she nervously moved closer to him, when the countdown began. Had she done the same the other years? He didn't remember, but soon he found himself taking her hand as the countdown reached 10 seconds. Outside they heard all the people standing on the large square, watching the start of the games on a giant screen, join in the counting of the last 5 seconds. Effie hid her face in his shoulder when the timer reached zero and the start canon sounded. She hadn't done that the other years, he was sure. He laid an awkward hand around her shoulder and let his fingers slip under her wig, feeling the net holding her own hair in place, but also the softness of the real, human Effie Trinket, whom she kept under there along with her tears and laughter, she'd never let anyone hear except on accident.

Haymitch found himself torn between his former oath to not feeling any emotions for her today and the urge to calm her down with a kiss. To calm himself down with a kiss.

"Effie listen…" Why did he feel so guilty? The woman did this to herself, she wanted it.

"No Haymitch," she said and peeked out from the soft fabric of his shirt, he could feel every bit of her warmth trough it. She didn't look at the screen.

"You could do better," he said and gently tugged of her wig, trying not to get the many pins she fastened it with to rip out her hair. She didn't seem to mind at all, in fact she took the wig cap of herself letting her hair fall down. It looked like a severely bad hair day after being stuck under the cap all day, but to Haymitch it was enough to just see her as a real, flawed person.

"_You_ could do better," she responded and propped herself further up against him.

"Me? Have you met me?" Haymitch laughed. This situation was so surreal he didn't even want to process it right now.

"Yeah, I met you. I met you in a lot of ways Haymitch," The way she pronounced his name made him think of a child who'd not quite caught the pronunciation of its first word, but still insisted on using it all the time. It might just be her accent, trying to make his name exotic. She didn't say anything more, leaving him to his thoughts – which was way enough for him right now. He knew she thought about the time he lost his mind and hit her. Talked about the times he'd nearly popped her eardrums yelling at her, that she was just another worthless Capitol-girl. He felt somebody had sucked his body clean of air. Why the hell did she insist to still even talk to him? Why didn't she just get the police to take care of him? The Capitol didn't like him in the first place and Effie seemed to be their darling, so what would the problem be? She could probably have him executed without even lying.

"Look, Trinks, I didn't … I haven't exactly treated you…"

"It's okay,"

"No. No, it's not,"  
"It was an accident,"

Haymitch never replied. Hitting her hadn't been an accident, far from it. She knew that. Yelling at her had sometimes been accidents, because when he was that drunk he'd yell at pretty much anybody for anything.

"I read your file," she said watching Katniss fight her way through the woods, just running.

"How did you get that?" Even Haymitch knew she didn't have access to those. Especially in his case, where his files was probably protected to not put the Capitol in a bad light.

"I have connections,"

"Sure," He said with a suspicious voice. He didn't want to talk about his own life, just as much as she didn't want to talk about hers.

"I know what we… They did to your family," He closed his eyes. The 'we' she changed to a 'they' sparked his attention again, though he'd started closing her out, like he always did when people mentioned subjects that were too sensitive.

"It's a long time ago, Trinks,"

"But you still have nightmares, I can hear you yelling from my room," She was getting to one of those lines again. He didn't like it. He didn't want to cry in front of her.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. That breaks the rules too, doesn't it?" she said noticing his shut-down. She directed her attention back to the TV now showing the deaths from the initial bloodbath. Haymitch let out a sigh and took a few moments to swallow his tears, before they came out. God, he was pathetic.


	6. Several Victories

**Author's note: **Wow, I can barely hit the right keys right now, I'm so tired, haha. Well, here's another chapter, since I won't be uploading over the weekend, as I am going to a convention ( / ) and won't have access to 'real' internet / bring my computer.

Hope you enjoy! :D

**This story may be seen as triggering to people dealing or having dealt with self injury, suicide or depression. Rated M for descriptive violence and very dark themes.**

* * *

"I don't like blood," Effie said, while Haymitch inspected her thigh. It'd become a daily thing for him. He changed her bandages, made sure nothing became infected. Some of the older scars had obviously been infected and reopened several times, because they were raised, white and some of the skin around them still irritated with redness.

"Funny words from someone who works with the Hunger Games and cuts herself," Haymitch said without a single emotion filling his voice. She'd broken her promise long ago, but as long as Haymitch saw the pain in her eyes when she had to reveal to him, that she'd done it, he could be just some sort of content. The deal was her idea. It helped her. Yesterday night he suspected she'd taken a 'bathroom break' and the dried blood and already beginning infection proved him right.

"I'm sorry…" She was usually crying during these sessions. Haymitch tried to keep as calm as he could. No matter how horrifying her injuries seemed he still couldn't shake that he was this close to her. Touching her thighs so delicately, that he sometimes felt her shake. On good days she'd kiss him when he was done. On bad days she'd cry until she fell asleep.

He shook his head. He was scared for her.

"Just try to stop. If not for yourself, then do it for me. I don't like blood either," he said and looked at some of the red, sticky stuff clinging under his fingernails.

"You're so good to me," she looked away and he saw her hand close tightly into a fist, while he pulled down her skirt again, covering the damage, which would probably never go away. Would it sound too romantic if he said he was just returning the favours from all the nights she'd spent with him bent over the toilet, soothing him with nice words and a cold cloth?

He sat down on her bed and regarded her for a while. Every time he saw her he'd begun feeling something. Not just the protective emotion of wanting her to stop hurting herself, but much more. It wasn't meant to happen, but slowly he felt he was falling for her. The kisses they exchanged had become loaded with such intensity, that it was no longer just because they only had each other. She'd wiped her face of make-up long ago, let her hair down. She spoke in private with him, with a voice that sounded nothing like the high pitched birdlike voice she used in public. He felt he was with another person. A real person She lay down next to him on the bed with a deep sigh, exhausted from crying.

"Could you stay with me?" she asked and he felt butterflies spread in his stomach the instant he heard the words. She asked them so innocently, yet his mind went straight to the gutter. It wasn't like he couldn't do it. Not like he didn't want to.

"Yeah, Effs, sure," he leaned back and felt his head hit the soft silk bedcovers. He could smell her minty breath, fresh as her wardrobe and count the blood vessels in her eyes. Automatically his hand went through her hair and he leaned forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. She replied by letting a clearly nervously shaking hand caress his cheek. He knew he had a foul smell to him, but she didn't seem to mind.

Haymitch pulled her a bit closer to him and embraced her, he could feel she was still sobbing a bit from the contractions in her body and the shaking, but it soon stopped as she pushed her face into his shoulder, closing her eyes tightly, mumbling something he didn't have the chance to hear, before she took him by surprise and put her hands on his chest. Her hands were a bit cold or maybe he was really hot, he couldn't tell. Through the fabric of his shirt he felt her thumbs move slightly and she pulled her head back to look at him with a questioning look on her face – maybe even slightly challenging. When he didn't do anything to stop her, she opened the top button of his shirt. Haymitch had almost forgotten how to do this stuff, but his bodily functions certainly still worked, he noticed. He felt vulgar, but there was not much to do about it, other than return her intensified endearments. This was probably a bad idea.

There were more of them. Scars. On her hips, on her stomach, all the way up to her ribcage covering her body. Some of them looking randomly cut in anger or despair, others in uniform lines making staircases from her hips and up. Old ones, really old ones it seemed. Haymitch tried not to stare as he relieved her of her clothes. He was shirtless, revealing the large scar on his stomach from the games. Normally they'd fix up the girls, leaving their skin flawless, but the boys. The boys kept some of the big scars – battle scars, Haymitch barely got medical treatment, because of his defiance of the Capitol, and so he still carried this. It was nothing compared to her, but she traced it with her fingers and for a moment she seemed filled with wonder and childish curiosity, but something grabbed her by her mind and led her thoughts back on track – whatever track they were going down. When he took of her bra she started shaking violently, not exactly crying or anything but enough to make him stop.

"Are you alright?" he asked and let go of her.

"I'm sorry, I'm just… Not used to being-" A sour taste spread in Haymitch's mouth when he realized what she was about to say. _Treated so gently. _He remembered Cinna protecting her, saying the women here were fragile, implying they didn't use the word 'no' much. He was disgusted yet turned on to no end. He wasn't used to being the nice guy, the good one, so this opportunity was an adventure for him. He kissed her and let a hand slide down her back, while his kisses moved softly from her lips to her neck. She let out little whimpers and he felt her nails scratch his back when he hit extra sensitive spots. He couldn't stop himself from growling when she unfastened his belt. He made sure to not be the least bit rough with her. The last thing he wanted right now was to see her cry again, her eyes still being red from when he checked her thighs.

As the night grew darker outside the inside of her room became warmer.

* * *

"Effie? Are you awake?" Cinna's voice sounded loudly from the outside of the room. Thankfully, he had manners, so he didn't burst in. Haymitch looked at the woman sleeping in his arms, still stark naked, breathing lightly, but obviously still asleep. If he was quiet enough, she might not wake up and Cinna would leave thinking she was still sleeping. But she was already stirring beside him.

"What time is it?!" she asked, suddenly awake like never before.

"Effie are you okay?" Cinna banged on her door.

"Coming, Cinna, give me a minute, my … my lens didn't go in the right way," She said pulling on a very simple dress from her closet. Black with deep blue streaks. In less than 30 seconds she was wearing a wig and some light make-up. She didn't really look like herself, but she looked enough like herself not to make Cinna suspicious, Haymitch guessed.  
"Stay. Here." She mouthed at him and nodded towards his clothes on the floor, before she left the room shutting the door quickly behind her. He heard her and Cinna discuss something, but he dared not move until the voices were gone so far he couldn't hear them.

* * *

She kissed him so surprisingly he almost pushed her away. He was stunned. She was ecstatic. They'd won. Both of them. Never in the history of the Hunger Games had two tributes won. Cinna stood behind them staring at Haymitch with a look filled with hatred. Haymitch had really gotten on the bad side of the stylist after Effie and him pretty much became semi-official. Wasn't hard to figure out, seeing as they spent so much time together. Neither Cinna nor Portia would ever do anything to harm Effie's reputation, so it never left the training centre. Though the expression on Cinna's face soon changed, when he looked to the screen and saw both Katniss and Peeta being lifted from the arena.

"We won," Effie said, tears streaming down her face, happy tears.

"Yeah… I guess we did," Haymitch said, but he wasn't as happy as his Capitol acquaintances, he knew the price of defying the Capitol.

"We should go meet with them when they get back!" Effie said with an excited voice, like a kid learning that Christmas would come a few days early this year.

"Effie, they have to go to the hospital," Cinna explained to her in an overbearing manner.

"Oh… Yeah," Effie said blushing. She looked at Haymitch and he took her hand, squeezing it a bit. He liked seeing her happy so he wouldn't burst her bubble by sharing his pessimistic thoughts. Portia called on a servant to bring them champagne.

Haymitch kissed her again to annoy Cinna. All his worries could wait until tomorrow.


	7. More than an Escapism

**Author's note: **I'm back! I haven't slept for about 48 hours right now, so please bear with me if I don't hit the right keys. I had an amazing convention, just so you knoooowwwwww..

_To the anonymous review asking if Cinna likes Effie: _I don't personally think Cinna sees Effie as a love interest. Well, it might sound stereotypical, but I think Cinna is either a-sexual or gay. To me, they click. They have a great friendship, almost in the big brother / little sister sort of way. I'm sure there are some other shippers out there, though :) Good hunting!

**This story may be seen as triggering to people dealing or having dealt with self injury, suicide or depression. Rated M for descriptive violence and very dark themes.**

* * *

He had his phone fixed. She called him every day to do check-ups. She was sick. Not physically, but mentally. Worse than she'd appeared before. She told him she started on her wrists and she was sorry. Haymitch felt helpless. There was a fifty-fifty chance of him going back into the arena. He knew Peeta would volunteer for him, if Effie drew 'Haymitch Abernathy' first, but he'd also made a promise to himself to volunteer if the first name would be 'Peeta Mellark'. It beat her up more than it beat him up. When he told her about this plan she cried for an hour. He cried a bit too. Because he knew what she did to herself when she hung up. One day she stopped calling. He called her several times, but no one answered. He broke down. Trashed everything in his house and drank way too much until he passed out on the floor, waking up the next morning in his own vomit. Katniss threw a bucket of cold water in his face. Back to training.

* * *

"Miss Trinket was not able to make it to the Reaping, Mr Abernathy, she'll most likely be meeting you in the Capitol," the unknown Capitol woman said to him. She was here for the Reaping. She'd introduced herself as 'Beth' and she looked like somebody had smashed her face with a sledgehammer, with her red tinted skin and black tattoos, covering where her eyebrows might once have grown.

"Why?" Haymitch asked harshly. Peeta took him by the shoulder and tried to pull him away from the woman.

"Officially she's sick with the flu, but the last time I saw her, she still hadn't got her red bracelet from the crazy ward removed," she spat out.

"Effie's not crazy!" Haymitch protested.  
"Mr Abernathy, please… Let's get on with this, I'm not happy to be here either," she sighed and pointed to the square where him and Peeta were supposed to stand. She didn't make much of deal of it. Peeta volunteered for Haymitch. Katniss was chosen. It wasn't very exciting. They were lead directly to the train. Never had he felt more alone on the well known train ride. Crazy ward? Was she hospitalized? For what? He couldn't even focus on whatever emotions he was supposed to be feeling about this Quell. He didn't even have time to get emotional about his own games, which was brought up by everyone now. All he could see when he closed his eyes was blood. He kept telling himself that she'd be hospitalized even in the condition he knew her in when he left her after the victory tour. There was just no one to tell authorities of her condition. Maybe Cinna had found out or something. If she'd started on her wrists like she told him it'd be easier to catch her. He hoped so badly nothing serious had happened to her. That she was okay. He would soon see that she was far from okay.

* * *

Her eyes were the most haunting sight in the world, though the big, fake smile sat stiffly in her face, they seemed to be so empty, they could be made of glass – though they reflected nothing at all. She talked to Peeta and Katniss in an adoring manner, pepped them up, and tried her hardest to keep to their schedule. He noticed the long sleeves. They were not in season, but he knew the reason behind them. The entire day going around her with the tributes and the stylists waiting for their next move, not being able to do any more than a light kiss now and then, went so slow he almost felt physical pain from it.

As darkness came Katniss and Peeta went to bed and the stylists left. Cinna was the last one to leave and the look he sent Haymitch told him a story about how much hate he could muster.

"You weren't at the Reaping," Haymitch said softly. She sat on the sofa staring at her crossed knees. "You disappointed me, Effs, I was looking forward to being _your_ tribute for a change," The joke didn't really get to her. She barely moved.

"How much have you heard?" she asked without looking at him. He paced a few times back and forth behind the bar. He couldn't sit still. He couldn't even hold his drink steadily.

"That Beth-woman, hideous beast by the way, said something about … A red bracelet," he tried to be elegant about it, not saying any words that sounded triggering. Effie nodded silently.

"I thought it'd all change when we won. But it all got worse, Haymitch,"

"How so?" Haymitch asked. He thought Effie would get a kick out of it. The Capitol loved her, loved the winners and loved everything splendid and spectacular.

"Well… First of all, they thought we cheated. I once dated Seneca Crane for a short while, so it was highly suspicious, I've been through so many interrogations," she said in a low whisper.

"But we didn't cheat," Haymitch assured her.

"No. They realized that. Then I heard what the Quell was going to be, I was so … So scared. They did it to get rid of them, changed the Quell. I'm not supposed to say that, but… They killed Seneca and I was afraid they might do something to you too, or Katniss and Peeta," He was disgusted by the pang of jealousy he felt when she talked about the former head game maker. "Everybody kept looking at me. There was so many expectations, I … I cracked," she breathed heavily.

"Cracked?" Haymitch asked feeling like someone was clawing at his intestines. She started crying, not knowing how to explain herself. He went over to her, sat down next to her and took her hands. Finally she looked at him.  
"It isn't pretty," she said as he went to draw up her sleeve. There were bandages on her wrists, but they weren't covering all of the cuts. He opened the clasps on the left bandage and she looked away as he uncovered something even Haymitch could recognize.

* * *

"_You tried killing yourself_?" he asked. Well, he yelled it. Loudly. There was nothing but shock in his mind. He didn't know what to feel. Should he be angry with her? Something inside him was so disappointed. It was selfish, but he'd hoped he was reason enough for her to… Stay alive. Effie just nodded and pulled back her arm, he realized he'd been gripping it tightly.

"I would have succeeded if it wasn't for Cinna breaking down my door. He had me admitted to a private hospital,"

"A mental institution?"

"Yes. I tried again while I was there. I don't know Haymitch, it seems so stupid now … Now that you're here… But I couldn't see a way out of this, if nothing helped,"

"You're fucked up, Trinks," Haymitch said to her.

"I was admitted to the institution for a month, then the President ordered me released because of the games, but they didn't allow me to go on the train as I'm under daily suicide watch," she told him.

"I can't believe you'd do that to yourself," Haymitch said with a sigh. He wasn't nearly drunk enough to cope with this.

"You hate me," She sounded pathetic. She was pathetic. One thing was an escapism, pain. Suicide. Suicide was something completely different.

"I don't hate you, Effie, I wish I could have helped you,"

"You helped me more than any one in the world," She'd sunk completely together, looking like nothing but a pile of emotions.

"But we have to focus on the games, Haymitch," she said conclusively. There was nothing more to say. She was ashamed, Haymitch could see it in her eyes and it made him a bit better. Like when he'd do her check ups last year and she would be directly embarrassed to show him any new cuts. Somewhere underneath the unpleasant blushing and shaking she might just regret doing what she'd done. At least that's what he chose to believe.

"Please don't cry…" he heard her say and as he raised a hand to his face he felt the tears silently making their way down his cheeks. He embraced her and felt more home than he'd ever done in this place, when she put her arms around him.

"Don't ever try that shit again, you hear me? Come beat me up or something, yell at me, do whatever, just… Don't ever think you're allowed to leave this world without me knowing," Haymitch mumbled almost threatening into her ear. He felt her tense up a bit. He knew she hated swearing. Sometimes she did it herself because she was too angry with him to not call him an asshole, but he'd never heard her swear in front of others. She was like a kid, never quite grown from the age where rules meant everything.


	8. A Dangerous Thought and 3 Little Words

**Author's note: **Math lessons are obvious timespaces to upload another chapter. I don't think this is particularly good, but it's kinda crucial for the story line and there's a sweet little thing in the end. I hope you are all doing well. I'm still pretty tired, so this hasn't been proofread as many times as some of the other chapters (I proofread several times, because my English skills are so bad).

**This story may be seen as triggering to people dealing or having dealt with self injury, suicide or depression. Rated M for descriptive violence and very dark themes. **

* * *

"Are you serious?" Haymitch looked at Plutarch with surprise. Their whispering conversation in the corner of a crowded café had brought a lot of new info with it.

"Don't tell Trinket," Plutarch warned him.

"Why would I?" he said. Officially he couldn't care less about Effie Trinket.

"Mitch, it's not hard to see how much better she got after you arrived here," the game maker told him with an overbearing look.

"When does this start?" Haymitch ignored his remark, but still a warm sensation of satisfaction spread in his stomach.

"It has already started," Plutarch said slowly and looked around the room, "I'd have told you sooner, but there are no safe ways to contact a district anymore,"

"And Cinna and Portia?" Haymitch asked.  
"Portia doesn't want to be involved, but she's agreed to keep everything silent. Cinna is in,"

Haymitch nodded. A rebellion. District 13. It was all very interesting, there was just one thing: Where would the Capitol citizens be in all this? He thought mainly of Effie. Somehow even him, who detested this place, couldn't justify taking everything away from these people who didn't know any better.

"I'm in, Plutarch, but on one condition,"

"Anything,"  
"Trinket goes with us to 13, even against her will," He noticed a line form between the older mans brows, but he nodded after taking a sip of his drink.

"You really care about her," he stated "I never thought you'd be that kind of guy, Mitch,"

"Shut up," Haymitch said and tried to hide his blush.

"We're meeting at this location at 5 tomorrow. Be there, don't be followed and discard of this paper when you've read it," Plutarch said and handed him a tiny crumbled ball of paper in a fake handshake. Then he left.

He wasn't keen on leaving Effie alone, but he felt he had to be there to take part in this. Figuring out an excuse had never been his strong point, so he didn't. He just left. The address showed to be an apartment on the cheaper side of the Capitol. Haymitch went in without knocking. Plutarch and a few others he didn't know by name, mentors from 4 and 11 was sitting on stools in a circle in the otherwise empty apartment.

"Haymitch," Plutarch said as a greeting.

"So this is where the party is?" Haymitch said and took an empty chair to sit down.

"Yeah, it doesn't look like much, but we're not being watched here," one of the others said, Haymitch faintly recognized him as one of the lesser game makers, who'd worked under Seneca. He had a big scar over his eye, undoubtedly leaving his left eyes useless.

"We're still waiting for a few people," another one said. Haymitch felt funny sitting here, like it was some sort of secret society. A club for only the invited. He thought of Portia, how she didn't want to get into it and he understood. He figured Effie would do it, but only because she wasn't good at declining things. There was little to no small talk in the group, though most of them knew each other. Haymitch would probably have known them too, if he hadn't spent the last 25 years drinking his brains out – especially during the trips to the Capitol. Hell, he was even buzzing right now, thirsting for a drink to fill the silence.

The last person arrived looking rushed and apologized for being late. When she'd sat down Plutarch took the word.

"We have word from 13. President Alma Coin," he started talking softly, like he was scared of surveillance, though this was probably the safest place.

"Some of you will soon be going into the arena and I want to tell you right away that I can't tell all of you what to expect. I've chosen a few of the tributes and I will inform you accordingly. Coin wants the 12s, Everdeen set a real example and while the Capitol is still eating up their love, it couldn't be any better," He continued talking. Some of the others intervened and asked questions, but Haymitch kept quiet. It was interesting, but to him most of the plans these … rebels had sounded like pipe dreams. It seemed impossible to do knock over the Capitol. Ruining the Games, even with a head game maker, seemed even more impossible. Snow would kill all of them if he had to and he didn't even have to try very hard. Snow had the serious upper hand in this and he could just use their deaths to show the rest of the districts – and the Capitol – what would happen if anyone ever pulled anything like that again. But then he thought about it. He had next to nothing to lose. Why not?

* * *

The daily suicide watch annoyed Haymitch greatly. He didn't want people to come here. Not people he didn't know. The doctor was the same every day and he was unpleasant and rude to both Effie and everybody else in the apartment. Haymitch suspected it was probably because Effie had lost most of her good reputation after the way too public hospitalization and the accusations of cheating by mingling with Seneca Crane. There was no prestige in being her doctor anymore, therefore no reason to be nice.

One day when the doctor was there, Effie had done it. The doctor basically ran the same check ups as Haymitch would do, but not in the same careful way. Watching it was awkward and intimidating, when he'd just stop her walking towards him and pull up her sleeves, check her blood for drugs and all other tests she was forced to take. Haymitch knew she'd cut more places than the doctor checked, but since she looked so uncomfortable he never told anyone. One fresh cut was on her left wrist. It looked like she never really got around to finishing. The doctor gave her more pills, but overall seemed not to care.

"I'll go flush these…" she said as soon as he'd left.

"You don't take them?" Haymitch asked, not really surprised.

"I've never needed them before, have I?" Effie turned on the waste disposer at the sink and he heard her throw the pills in there. He never protested. He figured she knew how to handle herself mostly and he couldn't really see himself fighting with her. He was so tired. The rebellion was taking form, but it wore him out.

"I guess you haven't," he said and looked at the TV. Everything went as expected in the arena. Mags dying had sent Effie to tears, but no one ever thought she'd live.

"I hate him, he makes me feel like …"

"I know, Effs. I'm sorry, could you…" He wanted to ask her to shut up. He didn't want to listen to her anymore. He wanted this to be over, so the constant fear and readiness in him could go back to stale calmness. It was like an arena out here. Of course this wasn't her fault: she knew nothing of the rebellion, as Plutarch wished. Soon it'd be very clear. She'd be angry with him for not telling her anything.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you alright?" she asked sounding a bit offended, her Capitol accent shining through with the tone of voice.

"Just tired, could you get me something?" he asked and looked at her. There was a red line on her left sleeve where the doctor had irritated the wound and probably just left her to bandage it herself. If Haymitch didn't help her cover the wounds with fresh, clean gaze they'd never be changed – Effie couldn't even touch them herself before they turned to raised white scars.

She put down a drink in front of him a few minutes later. He recognized it as cognac, a good one.

"You're lying to me, Abernathy," she said with no emotion in her voice.

"There are many types of lies, _Trinket,_"

"It's okay if you don't want me, Haymitch, I don't mind, well… I do mind, but …" She trailed off and looked at the screen, seemingly to avoid looking at him. It took him a while. Maybe a bit too long.

"I _do_ want you," he said. He sounded like a douchebag. He _was_ a douchebag for not telling her at least bit of the truth. It had to wait to 13.

"I don't consider myself greedy or anything, but you've been so… Absent,"

Was she seriously talking about sex? Talking about their relationship? Did this relationship even exist?

"I know," Haymitch said.

"What is wrong?"

"Would you believe me, if I said I wasn't allowed to tell you?"

He heard her neck crack as she turned to him too fast.

"That's just cliché,"

"Sorry, can't do any better,"

She shook her head and went for the door to her bedroom. He didn't even think about her condition, so he let her. He was just relieved. Her finding out anything would be catastrophic and if she started begging, crying or both he'd give up eventually. He knew himself enough to know that.

He'd already turned his focus back to the screen when he heard the three little words before she closed her door. He didn't fully understand them at first, because his brain hadn't had to deal with them for a very long time. Said so often in all the romantic movies, often yelled out during intense situations. Yeah, he knew what the words meant, but he wouldn't know how to cope with them being said to him in such a way. He turned around and looked at her door.

"_I love you too, Effs,_" he whispered well knowing she couldn't hear him. Suddenly realizing what she was probably doing. He felt his chest tighten. Why did he ruin everything like this? Without his consent his fist tightened around the fragile glass and broke it. He was never supposed to fall in love with Effie Trinket, because no matter how much of a rebellion was going on it was a lost cause. He swore at the pain coming from his hand, where the glass had cut him. Blood and cuts. It wasn't the usual things to remind you of someone you care about, but no matter what he tried all he could think about was her. He wiped his hand on his shirt and wished his drink wasn't spilled all over the floor, for he could really use it right now.


	9. Pain is Weakness

**Author's Note: **Here's another! We're slooowly crossing into a period of the books, which I find seriously interesting and I have a lot of ideas of what might or might not have happened there. This version has some pointers from "Reality Hurts" (my other non-oneshot Hayeffie story), but there's a few things changed - and a lot more work put into it! I hope you like it :) Thank you for the reviews guys, they make my day when they tick in on my phone! The massive response for this has really driven me to push myself further in terms of writing - not only fanfiction, but also original!

Have you got your copies of the film yet? I picked mine up Sunday, but I didn't have a chance to play with it until last night (I was too tired Sunday to even look at my computer screen for too long) I LOVE the extra material in the version I'm able to buy in Denmark (not as fancy as you Americans, though).

**This story may be seen as triggering to people dealing or having dealt with self injury, suicide or depression. Rated M for descriptive violence and very dark themes.**

* * *

He didn't remember the last time he'd been this drunk. Well, right now he didn't even remember how old he was or why he was here. All he remembered were the miserable fact, that he had nothing left. Remembered the harsh words he'd exchanged with Effie and how she'd left him sitting at the screen. Portia disappeared shortly before the argument really took flight. He couldn't blame her. The fight hadn't been entirely quiet and most of the other mentors and residents must've been able to hear it as well. There was still warmth in his cheek, where she'd hit him with a flat hand. He had bruised her as well, and probably bumped her a bit too hard into the wall when he grabbed her by the shoulders to immobilize her after she hit him. Right now he was telling himself he could get through this. She was never meant to become as important as she had been anyway. If he could get through the Hunger Games, losing his family and 25 years of the Capitol reminding him, he was worthless, he could get through Effie Trinket leaving him, leaving the centre and leaving the games. She was not allowed to by her doctor, but he also doubted she ever listened to a word he said, so it wouldn't surprise him if she was halfway across the city now.

Going to bed that night was harder than ever. These days she usually went to bed with him. Not always just for the sex, but for the comfort of another human being and the underlying pressure not to give in to any of their – well, their less healthy habits. The sex was great as well, though.

He never got around to it anyway, because when he'd laid in bed for an hour a loud bang sounded.

"Mitch, we gotta go, we gotta go right now,"

It was one of the mentors from 7. Haymitch's head seemed to not move with the rest of his body when his feet were on the ground. He pulled on a pair of pants and grabbed a shirt.

"Horribly wrong … Peeta captured … we need to go!" The man could barely breathe.

"Hovercraft waiting on the roof, get up there," He finally got out between the exhausted breaths. The elevator was probably a bad idea, so Haymitch quickly opted for the emergency staircase. He ran. He didn't think, he just ran. Didn't even stop to see if he was being followed or if the mentor from 7 was with him. He reached the hovercraft, but only just. His heart was beating too fast and he immediately felt like fainting, when he suddenly came to a stop. There was too much alcohol and misery in his system to do this.

* * *

"You're drunk," Plutarch noted and led him to a chair. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. He closed his eyes. At least he was on his way now. They'd be safe in 13.

_They …_ Haymitch didn't even open his eyes when he grabbed Plutarch's shirt.

"She's not here, is she?" He asked in a growling low voice.

"Not if she isn't with you, Haymitch," the man said as cold as he could. He obviously tried not to get emotion into this. Haymitch opened his eyes.

"I had _one_ condition,"

"There are no conditions in this war! Rest now, we'll talk tomorrow when you're not made of 70% alcohol," Plutarch left him to be tended to by a silent nurse. He'd apparently ripped open a gash on his forearm running here and his hand was still sore from the broken glass, but the pain never got to him. He was too dull from the alcohol.

* * *

Next day his headache almost killed him, but he got up. There were people in more need of care than him. He wandered around for a bit on the hovercraft. From what he could feel, they were still flying, but it couldn't be long now – the train ride between 12 and the Capitol took less than a day and with a hovercraft that distance should be completed faster. Not that he had any recollection of how much time may or may not have passed. He met someone from the group and they led him to the command of the Hovercraft. It seemed to be one of the bigger hovercrafts, probably used for vacation purposes.

He looked out the front window now descending into district 13. He was curious to see the place as well as angry he couldn't go back. He had spent an hour this morning contemplating what the Capitol would do to her, if they … When they got everything fixed and noticed she was still back. She was a Capitol citizen and she didn't know anything. Period. Maybe this was Plutarch's way of protecting her.

"Glad you could be with us," Beetee said and gave Haymitch a pat on the shoulder. Haymitch liked Beetee and he realized he liked him even more now, though the loss of Wiress probably couldn't be compared to his semi-loss of Effie. Haymitch just nodded.

"We're landing in ten minutes," he continued. Haymitch couldn't talk.

"She'll be alright," Plutarch said from behind him "Trinket's not stupid, she knows how to handle herself under pressure. And she is still the Capitol's darling. If she's smart, she'll blame it on you. Say you manipulated her and threatened her. If she's smarter she'll accuse you of rape,"

"You don't even know her," Haymitch said with a dark laugh. Effie was the worst liar he'd ever met, good at acting and hiding, but very bad at lying. And though she was probably mad as hell with him right now, with good cause, she would never blame him for anything. Not even something he had actually done. He just hoped she'd get off easy on the other end.

* * *

He followed the instructions. He followed their plans, but he didn't really contribute. He was an empty shell, which made him a vicious fighter. He couldn't get to alcohol, so he tried to focus everything on the tasks he got, though he went through serious withdrawals first. Plutarch had forced him to go to a psychologist, but the doctor reminded him so much of the guy who did Effie's suicide watch, that he couldn't talk to him. He tried though, because what else was there to do? Recently he'd spent most of his time talking to Beetee in the armory. When this was over, the rebellion, what'd he do? He never thought about it, but without the Games to keep him miserable he didn't do much. When he first heard of the rebellion, he'd allowed himself to briefly fantasize about living with Effie fulltime, his thoughts had killed themselves though. She wasn't one for even the richer life in district 12 and he'd never live in the Capitol with her. Once again he reminded himself that this was never meant to be. She was probably still in the Capitol, slowly returning to her normal life, whatever she did when there wasn't Games for her to work on. Her biggest problems being lack of seafood or a dire need of a new style in shoes. He hoped this for her. Hoped she'd already started to forget him.

* * *

"Haymitch, could you come here for a second?" He sounded like something had fallen into his voice and died. An ill feeling began spreading the instance he heard it. The former game maker looked tired, beaten up.

"I just thought I'd share something with you. Not because I actually want to show you, but,"

He put down a folder in front of him. It was marked with the Capitol seal and it seemed to have been brought here in a pocket, because there were creases everywhere.

"What is this?" Haymitch asked and opened it. His heart stopped on the first page.

"She wasn't in the same place as Mellark, I swear, we checked every single cell,"

Haymitch stared at the picture of Effie. It wasn't one she'd voluntarily let them take. The chair beneath him felt like it was made out of fire and ice at the same time. Maybe it was just his body. Some of the text next to the picture made him even more uncomfortable. Plutarch kept quiet for now. Haymitch didn't even try to fight the tears of anger and defeat.

"_Euphemia Trinket has been marked as a traitor and is no longer to be seen as a citizen of the Capitol. Further interrogations will occur,_" he read outloud to himself. His breathing became shallow and for a short moment he thought he was going to pass out. The first paper was dated back to when they'd first arrived in 13.

"There's a law against using violence and torture against Capitol citizens," Plutarch said in a whisper, maybe not even directed to Haymitch, who felt he was getting pounded in his stomach by every letter he read. He turned a few pages. More pictures followed. Pictures of her cuts. An evaluation. _Euphemia Trinket might be an unfit witness due to serious mental issues, _he read. _Physical pressure has not resulted in any information. Further interrogations will occur and head peacekeeper Adonis Tyrial will decide whether to increase the physical pressure on the subject. _Physical pressure. Bullshit. Torture. Johanna had been shorn, shocked and almost drowned, but Haymitch hoped they would have just a tiny bit of mercy on Effie, since she had been one of them. He was proved wrong by the final paper in the folder:

"_By direct order of the President, Euphemia Trinket will be relocated to the President's mansion in the City Circle. She will serve as a personal assistant for the President. The President has declined the opportunity to have the subject made into an avox." _He didn't realize his voice had risen in volume as he was reading and the entire command room had turned silent.

"Haymitch," Plutarch started, as Haymitch violently crunched the paper in his hand, now trying to get his tears under control. The pictures spread out in front of him showed more bruises than what she could do to herself. He shook his head. Physical pressure. They could make her say anything with enough of that.

"I'm sorry," he continued "I just felt you needed to know, before the rumour reached you,"

Haymitch took the first picture of her, the picture of just her face. It wasn't a good picture. It looked like she hadn't slept in days, but it was the only picture without bruises or scars polluting her. He put it in his pocket for later.

"She's as good as dead, if that snake's got her,"

"I wouldn't be so sure," Plutarch tried.

"We both know what _personal assistant_ means, Plutarch," He couldn't be around people anymore. He couldn't even be around himself, so he ignored everything on his schedule and went to his room, where he trashed everything, that could be trashed. The thought of her basically being the President's sex slave made him vomit. What he wouldn't do for a bottle of booze right now. What he wouldn't do for someone to fight, to beat up. Preferably someone with likeness to Snow, but anyone would do right now. He tried banging his head into the wall, but before he got to the point where a headache began, he became numb. The thoughts were all very clear in his mind, but he didn't tie them together with any emotion. There was only a feeling of wonder and helplessness against the stream of pictures his brain made him imagine. Nothing touched him. Not even the imagined screams from the escort. What was the last thing he'd said to her? They'd fought, so it probably wasn't all that pretty, but he couldn't say he regretted it. His still numb emotional system gave him another thought to chew on '_How long would she last?' _She couldn't be all broken if Snow wanted her, though Haymitch knew Snow had always looked at Effie like a challenge.

* * *

His feelings didn't return. He would have been scared if it wasn't so convenient. He could go back to work, taking care of Katniss and the rescued prisoners from the Capitol. He could plan vicious attacks and help Beetee design weapons to murder.

He guided Katniss from the hovercrafts. She never noticed anything. Nobody ever did. The people who were in command with him that day had probably forgot. Plutarch sometimes asked if he was okay, but Haymitch just nodded and mumbled something about getting back to work. He got used to the thought that she was dead. Maybe she wasn't, but if that was the case she might as well be. He never mourned over her, but decided to remember her for what she had been to him instead of how she might have died.


	10. Reunion

**Author's Note: **Hope you are having a great day! Here's something to depress your soul with. I hope you like it and enjoy! :) Only 3 more chapters until this story can be marked as complete.

**This story may be seen as triggering to people dealing or having dealt with self injury, suicide or depression. Rated M for descriptive violence and very dark themes.**

* * *

What hadn't hit him in the past few months hit him full force now. The crumbled figure in the corner, scared to death and comparable to a sheet in both colour and thickness. His entire body seemed frozen. Snow wasn't much of a problem, luckily. Plutarch and a few of the others had already handcuffed him. They didn't even seem to mind her, except for a salvaged avox, Haymitch never learned the name of. He pointed to her, then looked at Plutarch and Haymitch for orders. Trying to talk was even harder than to process the situation. Somehow finding her almost angered him. He'd been so … satisfied with the thought of never meeting her again, at the thought of her being dead. He'd gone through whatever grief period for her and now looking at her barely alive, naked in the corner of the President's private bedroom, made everything come back, including the bottled up emotions from the time where he couldn't feel. Nothing had prepared him for this.

"Just focus on the President," he heard Plutarch say in a rushed voice. "Haymitch are you sleeping? We need to move on,"

"N-No," Haymitch stuttered. "Just go, I-I-I need to take … care … of this," It felt like the words stuck on every part of his chapped lips, causing him almost excruciating physical pain, not limited to his face, but slowly spreading to every inch of his body. Plutarch suddenly stopped his rushing for a moment and everything seemed to be still. The former gamemaker looked at the woman in the corner, where it was obvious Haymitch eyes had locked. Maybe he didn't recognize her, but somehow he got the point. He never said anything and Haymitch silently thanked him for that, for he wouldn't know how to answer.

"Alright, let's give Abernathy some space, let's go!" He shouted to the others and looked one final time at Haymitch. Well knowing that Coin would probably want to murder both of them they exchanged looks. She was never part of the rebellion, but she was also no longer part of the Capitol. When the last man of the little team left the room to get Snow locked up somewhere, he moved slowly forward. She didn't move, but her eyes shone in the dim light back at him, carefully examining every single one of his movements. He didn't expect her to talk or say anything. Somewhere in him he knew she really needed to get to a doctor – a head doctor too, probably. He was overwhelmed by uncertainty. He needed help. What should he do? She looked so alien to him now, bared and humiliated. There was nothing left of the bubbly façade, she so often had put on to mask her true feelings. She never lied, but she hid things. She was good at that, but not good enough to hide this. He wished he could hide from _her_ right now, so she didn't need to see his expression of utterly despair.

"Effs," he said as he fell to his knees next to her. A sharp pain shot through him, clearing his mind in a second. She looked at him with wide eyes, red from crying, both black with bruises and with even darker circles from lack of sleep. She didn't blink. He couldn't even hear her breathe. He reached out to touch her cheek and when he did, she let out a frightened sound and suddenly she forced herself to push him away. It wasn't words and if he hadn't seen her tongue when she opened her mouth he'd have sworn she'd lost it.

"Effie it's me," he said trying to calm her down, when she went into a fit of desperation and curled up into a ball, letting out small outbursts of pain, from moving her wrecked body.

"Effie, stop, look at me, it's Haymitch, I'm not going to hurt you," He couldn't even try to fight the tears, now streaming down his face. Outside he heard shouts of still panicking Capitol citizens – probably also the rebels. He needed to get away from here. If there were more explosions and more shootings they'd risk getting caught in the crossfire.

"We need to get you out of here, I'm so sorry, Effs, I …" He tried to scoop her up, but she didn't make it easy for him to carry her, though she seemed light as a feather. When she finally spoke her first words to him, it sounded like she'd been screaming her lungs out for weeks.

"Hay … mitch," She seemed to calm down after getting it confirmed by her own voice, that it was in fact him. He put her on the President's bed for a second and stroked her hair, which hung dead and unwashed around her sunken face, before he tried to figure out a strategy. According to his watch he had around 2 hours to run on, before the hovercraft would leave from the meeting place. It'd taken about 30 minutes to get here. He figured it'd take about double the time now and with her. Then he'd have to add the much needed breaks, for he was certain she wouldn't be able to walk herself or even take the large amounts of stress from being carried.

"I'm going to get you out of here, you'll be alright," It took him a lot of effort to believe his own words, but he didn't see a way the situation could get any worse. To his horror, she shook her head and closed her eyes softly.

"Don't sleep, Effs. I need you here," She opened her eyes like suddenly waking from a nightmare, when he said the words. He wasn't a doctor, but he figured it wouldn't be good if she fell asleep.

* * *

It wasn't really hard to carry her, now that she seemed to have accepted it was him, but though he felt she tried to be quiet and not complain, he knew he was hurting her every time he ran a bit too fast or got a bit too careless. The sheet from the bed served as a temporary blanket for her, but even he could feel the cold hitting him through his jacket. He had to keep a very unsteady speed to avoid getting caught in some of the revolt still going on. He was clinging to walls, trying really hard to just get forward, trying even harder to ignore the fact that he felt the hand she wrapped around his neck loosening and become lank and dead.

And then they were there. He was afraid to believe it, when he saw the hovercraft. The last ten minutes his head had set the memory of her telling him that she loved him on repeat, like some sort of cruel joke. He didn't realize just how much energy he had spent on getting here until a healer took him by the shoulder and led him to the hospital room Coin had arranged on the hovercraft. The healer didn't even try to get him to let go, before he could put her on a clean bed, triggering a final pain induced sound from her.

"You'll be okay, Effs," He said and looked at her fully for the first time. He could see now why she wasn't able to walk, as her left foot seemed broken in every way possible. Plutarch had told him that this was a general problem with some of the dead prisoners they'd found and that he suspected it was something the guards did to mark the ones for the slaughter and make sure they didn't get away. Her groin area was stained with blood, even through the sheet he'd wrapped around her. So was he, he noticed when the haze left him and he allowed the healer to do her work. She didn't even ask who she was and Haymitch was glad. He didn't want to explain why he thought Effie Trinket was worthy of saving. He sunk deep down into a chair next to her, while the doctor, who his baffled brain faintly recognized as Katniss' mother, uncovered her wounds. He heard some shouts and Mrs Everdeen briefly stopped her examination to go check on the newcomers. While she was away Effie turned her head towards Haymitch and looked at him with a pained expression.

"Thank … you," she mouthed almost unable to talk without her body retracting due to the energy it took. He told himself he wouldn't cry with her watching, but it was far too late. For the first time in his life since the Capitol killed his family, he felt the need for revenge. He'd subsided it with alcohol for a long while, but when he saw her like this, one of their own, raped and bleeding, he wanted nothing more than to watch Katniss' arrow pierce Snow's heart.


	11. Let Go

**Author's Note: **Good day to you! Rainful here and it sucks, but let's face that sumemer IS over, goodbye. Let's take a less happy chapter to celebrate, here you go!

* * *

"Well, it's not up for discussion, you owe us quite a lot," Coin said coldly when Effie declined her command. Haymitch sat beside her bed, holding her hand, which was handcuffed to the bed frame. Her foot was amputated, but unlike with Peeta's leg she never got a replacement. He kept his mouth shut. If Effie only knew how close she was to being just another casualty – not that he'd ever allow that to happen, though. Coin seemed so fed up, it was almost fun to see how Effie so passively said no to her.

"You _do _know that he raped you and almost killed you?" Coin said lowering her voice.

"That's exactly why I don't want to aid in his execution. Hasn't there been enough death in this as it is?"

"That's coming from a woman who reaped and led people to die for 5 years," Coin said with so much hate in her voice Haymitch was surprised Effie didn't tell her to mind her manners.

"There is a difference between doing everything you can for two children, that you were employed to reap and killing a man just to get revenge," Effie said, while Coin's overall grey appearance became slightly redder as they talked.

"You do this for me and I'll allow you to live with him," She pointed to Haymitch, who suddenly felt vulnerable, because he hadn't been paying very much attention to what was going on, while he was stroking her tiny hand, that almost seemed ready to slip right out of the handcuff, which had left red edges around her wrists.

"Oh shut up, Alma," Haymitch said defensively. "You don't own her,"

"Well, as a matter of fact all Capitol citizens in 13 answer directly to me,"

"I'm not a Capitol citizen anymore," Effie sounded like Coin had finally hit a soft spot. "Snow had me degraded to a district 12 citizen. He said it was good for me to familiarize with the other dirt,"

"Escorting Katniss is still your job. Even that horrendous prep team is here, so are you and so will you be at the execution of Snow,"

Haymitch gripped her fingers tightly, when he felt her drill her nails into her palms. She couldn't hurt herself in her preferred ways while handcuffed, so she'd found weird ways to induce pain. Some of them even more discreet than the unsuspicious 'bathroom breaks'. Her palm was now an infected mess of sores from her nails. Haymitch cut her nails often and the doctors and nurses tried to bandage her hands, so it would be impossible for her to do it, but nothing worked. She did it with her remaining toenails as well on the other leg, but Haymitch wouldn't let them strap her completely to the bed. The handcuffs were Coin's orders. Effie still had a flaming, defiant look in her eyes when Coin left. She'd lost.

"Trinks, there's nothing to do about it. It was Katniss' terms," Haymitch tried soothing her.

"I don't want to be a part of it,"

"I know, but…"

"I'm pregnant," Haymitch swallowed his own words and looked at her after her sudden change of tone, voice and subject. She wasn't lying.

"The doctors told me this morning," she said. "No matter what he did to me, I can't help kill the father of my child,"

"But he … He never … Intended," Haymitch stuttered and tried to keep himself from looking at her belly. Of course there was nothing there yet, she couldn't be very far in the pregnancy.

"No of course he didn't _intend_ to get me pregnant, Haymitch,"

"Have you thought about abortion?"

"Have you thought about drinking?" she asked mockingly in return, "They say I'm too weak to abort it right now and soon I won't be able to,"

"Seriously? How far are you?"

"Seven weeks,"

"And when's the limit for abortion?"  
"They say it's ten, but in the Capitol it was twelve, so I guess that's about the same,"

"I can't believe you were with him so long,"

"I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" she hissed at him. She wasn't mad at him. She rarely ever was or had been. She was mad at herself. He heard her mumble it sometimes. Why she didn't just step up and took some action against him before it got this far. The anger in her voice was quickly replaced by silent sobbing. She couldn't wipe her own tears, due to the handcuffs. It was humiliating to watch and Haymitch was fast to pull out a handkerchief for her.

"Listen, we will get through this. Say yes to Coin, ask the doctors again if you can't get it removed. Otherwise we'll just deal with it when the time comes, who knows, maybe you're a fantastic mother," he said, while he dabbed away the tears.

"I'm not a fantastic mother, Haymitch. I can't even take care of myself,"

"You did a pretty good job on me, though," he insisted "I guess I'd be drunkdead right now if it wasn't for you sneaking those pills into my diet,"

"You knew?" Effie blushed and looked down, not meeting his gaze.

"Plutarch once said you got better once I came," he recalled.

She kept quiet, still red as a tomato in her face.

"I guess you were not the only one getting better,"

"You're not sick, Haymitch, you're just… Stupid," she said and shook her head.

"Stupidity kills more people every year than the damn games, Effs. I know I was stupid, probably still am, but… I really like you," He was looking at her, but not really seeing her. Her face still burned with blushing and even more now that he was babbling all this to her.

"When you told me that, the evening before we… you know … parted, I was scared. Because the Capitol once took everything I had," Haymitch had never really talked about this with her, she'd mentioned reading his file, getting the knowledge, but they never actually discussed it. Haymitch didn't talk much about feelings.

"But I read your file too," he said and poked her shoulder, "I guess we have more in common now than before,"

She looked at him with a scared look on her face.

"What do you mean?" she asked and Haymitch had to take another one of those mental punches in the stomach. She didn't know.

"Oh God, Effie, I thought you knew,"

"They killed my family?" Effie asked coldly and for a second Haymitch was happy she was handcuffed, for she looked ready to hit him and run away. Instead she sunk deeper into the pillow. Haymitch didn't know how to reply to her. He didn't want to just say 'yes' or 'yeah' or something like that, but he wasn't elegant with words like she was.

"How much of it?" she then asked barely understandable through a beginning panic attack.

"The papers mentioned an Ilana Trinket and a Julius Trinket," Haymitch said and felt a knot tie in his throat. It was horrible to witness this. Why didn't she know? What good did it do to kill her family if they couldn't torment her with it?

Effie nodded and Haymitch once again tried her best to wipe away her tears, as she was unable.

"Mom and dad?" he asked to be sure. He didn't know any of Effie's family. She nodded again

"I'm sorry,"

"They didn't deserve that, they were so … peaceful, they only began really watching the games once I got the job as escort. They weren't … In on it,"

Haymitch couldn't really cope with it. He had just singlehandedly crushed her world by telling her that her parents were dead, by making her say she was pregnant, by almost forcing her to partake in Snow's execution.

"Let go of my hand, Haymitch," she asked. He knew the reason, but if there was a day where he wouldn't argue with her about hurting herself it was today. Recovery could wait another day. He let go and saw her nails dig deep into her palms. Her face relaxed for a moment, then became tense with crying.

"It's my fault. I messed everything up. I'm having that bastards child and my parents are dead," she was violently shaking and trying to get free from the cuffs, "and now I'm locked to my bed and I can't even do anything here right," Haymitch just shook his head at her. He knew the feeling and he knew there wasn't much to do about it.

"I'll go talk to the doctors next thing to see if there's anything we can do," Haymitch promised.

"Could you… Could you do that now? I think I want to be alone," An elegant way of telling him to get the fuck out. He knew her even in grief. He kissed her forehead and lips and stroked her hair.

"Be nice to yourself," he said, though that was a lost cause already.


	12. Good News

**Author's Note: **Next chapter is the last one! The last few chapters were kinda hard to write, because I don't have one idea about how it all ends. But I guess you'll see tomorrow, when I upload :)  
_K8 G.H. Ducey_: I'm sorry you don't like the plot turn, but I also want to thank you for the honest critique, it shouldn't be so taboo to say 'bad' things in here :)

**This story may be seen as triggering to people dealing or having dealt with self injury, suicide or depression. Rated M for descriptive violence and very dark themes.**

* * *

He never had to talk about the abortion with the doctors. She handled it in a gruesome way, which he luckily wasn't there to witness. One day the nurse took off her handcuffs, so she was free to wash herself. It was a new nurse, who didn't seem to have understood that Effie was a 24-hour watch patient, even during washing. It'd taken her a few tries of ramming her lower body into the sink, but she'd started bleeding and unintentionally broken one of her lower ribs. After the miscarriage she'd gone into a coma for a while. Haymitch feared that she would actually die, but she didn't. She woke up after about 4 days, still on the edge of her grave, but alive, which was more than he dared hope for.

"Did I mess up again?" was her first words to him.

"Coin is dead," was her first reply to her. She closed her eyes again and was out for another day. At least she got off easy on the escorting job.

* * *

"She has to go back for a while, probably a few months, maybe a year," he was informed by a doctor. 'Back' described the Capitol. They had better doctors and access to better medicine for her.

"She will be safe. She's protected under the Mockingjay Treaty – so are you, if you decide to visit her," some other person informed him.

"Plutarch will make sure she's safe," finally a voice he knew – Beetee. All other people had left the room – well, except for Effie of course. She was awake and listening, for her hand sometimes squeezed his just a tiny bit.

"I'm going back to 12," Haymitch said without even thinking about it.

"I know," Beetee said.

"She'll be alright," Haymitch told himself. It was hard to believe anything, though.

"Geese," she said with a voice so tiny he had to lean in to hear her repeat the word: "Geese,"

"Geese?" he asked and looked at her. It obviously took her a lot of effort to talk, so it had to be important.

"I like geese," she said to him, like it mattered more than anything in the world. Haymitch stroked her cheek and shook his head. She was like a child again. Beetee smiled at her.

"She's strong, she lived through worse than this," Beetee said and patted Haymitch on the back before he left him alone.

"Geese?" he echoed back at her once again and let out a sigh. He couldn't help but picture Effie Trinket with geese – or any other farm animal – helpless and confused as to what she was doing. She'd had a cat once. She'd told him about how she got a kitty from a friend as a present and she hated the little creature so much, but she was too polite to ever get rid of it. Luckily for her it ran away. Nah, the geese was probably just some sort of wonky nightmare.

"The geese in the park cover up my thoughts sometimes when I'm alone," she said dreamily. Haymitch tried asking her some more questions now that she seemed to be so good at talking, but she never replied to anything. The geese in the park. He knew which park. They'd walked there together and sometimes attended banquets there at night during the games. He didn't remember there being precisely geese, but as he thought about it he seemed to remember there being that annoying sound of birds always pecking at each other. _They cover up my thoughts when I'm alone. _Her face looked angelic in the dim light, white and fair. The thoughts underneath the blonde hair were far more dark than what she seemed to be able to think.

* * *

The day she left he cried a lot. He decided to stay to say goodbye to her, even though Katniss and Peeta had gone back to 12 long ago. She was disorientated and confused as to why she was being moved.

"You should go with her," Plutarch said to him, while they watched the nurses put her in a wheelchair. She still hadn't gotten a replacement for her foot, so she couldn't even try walking.

"I can't," Haymitch simply replied. It would be too painful to go back and she needed rest. She needed time to think about everything. Her going back probably meant she would never return, he knew that. The Capitol had always been her home and Effie didn't cope well with change. He doubted she would just leave everything behind and travel to twelve, even though she was officially no longer a part of the Capitol.

"I know that, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't," Plutarch pointed out and lifted the bag containing her few belongings over his shoulder. He was escorting her all the way to the institution she had been admitted to for at least the next 3 months. Haymitch was glad. Effie seemed to like Plutarch. The creaking sound of the wheelchair made him look down at her, barely able to contain his tears, which had been flowing freely most of the day. The nurse behind the wheelchair smiled at him with one of those pleasant hospital smiles, that mean nothing, because it's the same face they put on when they inform people that their loved ones are dead.

"Be safe," Effie's tiny voice said and he crouched down to get her in eye level. A sad time wave came over him. Here she was telling him to be safe and he couldn't even figure out anything soothing to tell her.

"Stay alive," The words came out of his mouth unexpected. It was the same advice he'd given the tributes year after year, but he'd rarely meant them in anything but a mocking way. Now they were filled with such emotion he couldn't even recognize himself. The room grew silent, waiting for either her response or him saying something else. Effie closed her eyes and nodded so lightly, Haymitch doubted anybody but him saw it. She was shaking slightly, her fingers almost vibrating on the armrests of the wheelchair. He kissed her. She cried, but never begged him to go with her, though he could feel she was scared to go back. Mockingjay Treaty or not, she was still a traitor to many from the Capitol after her degradation was announced along with other Capitol rebels. And even when the Capitol was now a free place, where everybody could go if they had the money or the need, the people living there now wouldn't change. _I thought everything would change when we won, _she'd once said to him, explaining her suicide attempt. Nothing changed. It only hit him now, as he was saying goodbye to her, sending her back to the place where she came from.

"You're going to be alright!" Haymitch assured her and gently caressed her cheek, while blinking madly to keep his own tears from falling too uncontrolled.

* * *

Peeta had been sitting there for a long time, trying to get Haymitch to talk. Haymitch wanted to talk to them, but the excitement mixed with a big chunk of fear kept his tongue tied.

"So when is she…?" Katniss asked putting down a bottle of wine, which Haymitch quickly ingested half of. It calmed him down a bit.

"Three days, I talked to her last night," Haymitch could hear the geese honking from their stable across the road. They were all that had kept him together while all contact to Effie was through either Plutarch or her doctor and the occasional rare call from herself, when she was allowed. _To cover up my thoughts, while I'm alone, _he thought. It worked. Well, alongside a lot of alcohol. When the memories became too much he'd go out in the yard where he kept the horrible birds with a bottle of liquor and drink until all he heard was the honking.

"I'm not even going to ask you if you're mentally ready, but are you physically ready?" Peeta asked and pointed out the window towards his house. He was right. Effie had higher expectations than the usual district 12 people and the fact that she had actually agreed (and was allowed) to live with him here, could make him scrub any floor.

"I'm cleaning tomorrow," Haymitch said and nodded as thanks for the reminder.

"You want us to make you dinner for when she comes? Can she cook?" Peeta said further.

"I doubt Effie Trinket can cook, Peeta," Haymitch with a hollow laugh, "I doubt she ever had a reason to,"

"That's true, I'll make you something, we'd like to meet her as well," Peeta concluded.

"I never believed it was true, Haymitch," Katniss said and let out a sigh, placing a hand on her pregnant belly.

"Me neither, sweetheart," Haymitch said and ran a hand through his hair.

But it was true. And closer than it had ever been.


	13. Peaceful

**Author's note: **So this is the end? Yeah, it is! I rewrote this at least ten times, trying out different endings, but I guess I came to the one I like the most (I'm so torn between everything) I won't say anything more, read away!

Thank you to everybody who has taken the time to read, review, favorite and follow this story! It got way more feedback than I dared hope for and I think you are all beautiful little darlings for making me feel so great :)

I don't have any plans for writing more Hayffie right now, sorry to say, but I've written a bit cold on the pairing and I want to explore something else. I'm not really into other fandoms or ship other people, so I might just lay low for a while.

**This story may be seen as triggering to people dealing or having dealt with self injury, suicide or depression. Rated M for descriptive violence and very dark themes.**

* * *

He couldn't take his eyes of her. He hadn't forgotten what she looked like, but somehow she still seemed so new to him. Her walk had a slight limp to it, but she'd learned pretty good to walk on her substitute foot, though she was about 4 inches shorter than usual, since she couldn't wear heels anymore. Her clothes were less extravagant, but still richer than most of district 12 could hope for. A simple white dress with gold brocades, she'd look like a goddess if it weren't for the scars still shining back at him in the sun. He couldn't judge if there were more than when he last saw her, but he could see that there were no new ones on her wrists and legs. She wore short sleeves.

"You look great," he said truthfully to her and didn't wait to pull her into an embrace, touching her hair, which she hadn't even bothered to cover with a wig. He felt her tears through his shirt and he couldn't get his heartbeat under control or stop smiling. There were tears in his own eyes as well. He closed them and let his cheek rest on her head. It felt good, he didn't remember the last time he'd been this happy.

"I was scared…" Effie admitted as she put the few belongings she had in the closet Haymitch had prepared for her.

"They can't recognize you," Why was it so hard to stop smiling?

"They will eventually. You know, Snow's initial plan was to put me back here during the rebellion and let the district do what they wanted, they won't just forgive and forget Haymitch. I wouldn't,"

"A lot has happened since then," Haymitch promised her and looked at her scarce baggage.

"Where is everything? I thought you owned a lot of stuff…"

"Well, during the rebellion a lot of the Capitol was burned down, my apartment was in one of the complexes completely wrecked," she said without emotion, "I haven't bought much while I was in the hospital, so…" She suddenly laughed a bit. She didn't laugh often, so Haymitch first thought something was wrong. It sounded like a wind chime, her high-pitched voice giving in to laughter.

"You know it's not like I care anymore, Haymitch, isn't it crazy? When I heard all my stuff was gone all I thought was that it was easier to get to 12 without it," she shook her head and watched him pick up a photo from her suitcase. Obviously her parents, not an old photo, seemed to be back from when the time he met her. She looked like her mother.

"And I didn't own a lot of stuff. You've never seen me wear my own clothes until today. Everything I got for the games was sponsored, none of it was mine. The Capitol didn't really pay me well for the escort job, because there's so much honour in it and because it was for 12. I merely got by when there wasn't a Game going on. Escorts mostly tend to … live out the other meaning of escort, though I never… Oh, yeah, never mind," she added with a sigh.

"I just thought..."

"You thought I was rich because I'm from the Capitol?" Effie laughed again and patted him on the head.

"There's no shame in being happy about where you're from, Effie, you don't have to denounce the Capitol, just because you don't live there anymore," He couldn't believe he was the one to tell her that. He didn't want to comment on her remark about the sexworkers. There was many. Even himself had been considered for the trade when he won the Games, but he was probably deemed too dangerous. He couldn't picture Effie as being _sexy _and _flirty. _He knew she thought of Snow, because for a short moment her face grew so dark he felt she was never going to return.

"I love the Capitol, I love the fashion, the colours, the luxury," She turned to him with a brilliant smile suddenly flashing through the deep, dark thoughts, "but I love you even more," He was hit by a weird sensation and couldn't stop himself from kissing her and pushing her suitcase from the bed and to the floor.

"I have no idea, why you're that stupid – must be the blonde hair," he whispered, while she gently moaned under his hands. There was nothing he wanted more than her body and mind right now.

He got even more excited when he pulled of her dress and realized there were no new scars. No redness or infection, just small white bumps, which would never fade more than they were now. He traced a few of them with his fingers, while not allowing her to pull from the kiss and explain herself like he knew she wanted to. The bumps felt funny under his coarse fingers, like silk, sticking to the calloused skin around his nails. He liked it, though he didn't allow his hands to linger on her thighs for too long, there were more tempting places nearby.

* * *

"Damn I've missed you," Haymitch said teasingly as their damp bodies finally parted.

"I know," she snapped back at him and placed her head on his shoulder. She held back now. There was still underlying awkwardness in their movements, when they weren't having sex – that just came natural. Everything else was still only partly charted territory for both of them.

"Don't sleep, Peeta and Katniss has invited us for dinner," he said softly as she fell asleep. He couldn't bear to wake her up, so he let her stay. He didn't get up himself. He could stay here forever, with her lying like a ball of warmth next to him. Less than a year ago this had been impossible. Less than a year ago she was in a coma. Less than a year ago he'd been crying himself to sleep thinking he'd never see her again, after she'd gone back to the Capitol. Less than three hours ago all of this had been untrue, when he saw her standing on the train station waiting for him. Everything was at peace now.

"I love you," he said to her, calmly and finally in the right moment.

"I love _you,_" she replied back in her sleep. He smiled and closed his eyes.

* * *

When he turned on the light the next morning something was wrong. The first thing he noticed was the smell. The dull smell of dried blood and fake rose. He saw it shortly after. The rose, standing elegant and tall in a vase on Effie's bedside table. She laid next to it, still sleeping. Haymitch poked her side.

"Effs, wake up," He drew the knife from under his pillow and stared around the room.

"Effie, wake the fuck up!" he repeated a few moments later, when she didn't respond.

"Euphemia Trinket!" he yelled louder, still scanning the room, which seemed as harmless as ever. A dreadful thought came over him. Turning around towards her, he saw her pale face, lying there untouched save for a tiny dripple of saliva running down her cheek. It was stained with blood. The knife fell from his hand. This wasn't happening. As fast as he'd gotten up, he crawled back into the bed, next to her, putting his fingers on her wrists, checking for pulse. When he didn't find one he checked her breathing, her pulse on her neck, anything. The panic almost paralyzed him, but it was true.

"Effs," he whispered and kissed her face, her hands and her neck as if she was Snow White and just waited for someone to kiss her back to life. "Wake up," he pleaded of her in desperation. He didn't want to believe it. Nothing was true. Nothing was supposed to happen this way. He tried to remember his training from a long time ago, but he crushed her brittle ribs in a failed attempt at revitalizing her. It was over. He fell back when he realized.

"I'm sorry!" he cried, "Oh … Effie," he couldn't even begin to know how he was supposed to react. He looked at the rose on the bedside table.

_We're still here, _a note next to the rose said.

They had killed her.

The Games weren't over.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Just another thank you to the people who were concerned enough to send me messages about self harm treatments. I _do_ have personal issues with that subject and I have been battling depression for a long time, though writing about it in this way makes me feel better. It warms my heart that people care enough to actually go out of their way to find advice for me and message me, though they don't even know me.

I hope you can forgive me for killing her. I tend to kill of my favorite characters, when I start loving them a bit too much. Not saying I won't bring her back to life some time in the future for another take on her faith with Haymitch.

Thanks for everything

~ Mette


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